Friday Fictioneers — Discovering My Passion

4AE4F7DD-305A-4132-8707-5BE4E6171FF2My father is a musician. He plays the violin. My mother is a musician. She plays the cello. My sister is a musician. She plays the clarinet.

My parents bought a piano for me because they wanted me to be a musician. But I just didn’t have the knack. The family’s musical gene wasn’t passed on to me.

In a fit of pique, my father moved the piano outside onto the sidewalk in front of the family music store, where it sat unused and rotting away.

Then I discovered my passion, my green thumb. I can make plants grow anywhere.

(100 words)


Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Anshu Bhojnagarwala.

Time To Write — Those Were The Days

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“I didn’t do it,” Archie protested. “I didn’t sell the piano. How could you even think I would do such a thing? You don’t know me at all, do you?”

“Nothing you do these days surprises me,” Edith said. “And you’re right, Archie, I really don’t know you anymore.”

“I swear to God, Edith, I didn’t sell your stupid piano,” Archie said.

“Then where is it?” Edith asked. “It was right here in our living room before we went to Philly to visit Gloria and Mike.”

“Okay, Dingbat,” Archie admitted. “It has been six months since I insisted they get their own place and move out and I was feeling guilty. And then Meathead said that Gloria really missed having a piano. So I called my buddy from work and had him and his crew picked it up and drive it down to Gloria’s place.”

“Oh Archie,” Edith said, “that was so thoughtful of you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, Edith, I know how much you love us sitting down at the piano and singing together,” Archie said. “Besides, if I have to listen to you screech ‘Those were the days’ one more time, I think I’d have to kill myself.”


Written for Rachel Poli’s Time To Write prompt.

Twittering Tales — Piano Man

It had been quite a while since Edgar had last sat at the piano and, as he liked to say, tickled the ivories.

He regarded his arthritic fingers and wondered if they could still work well enough to play a piece.

Every stroke hurt, but it was, indeed, music to his ears.

(266 characters)


Written for this week’s Twittering Tales prompt from Kat Myrman. Photo credit: Pexels at Pixabay.com.